


Blow Us All Away

by chanderson



Series: You Complete Me [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Bombs, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explosions, Gentle Sex, Gun Violence, Head Injury, Headaches & Migraines, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Medical Trauma, Mental Health Issues, Military Backstory, Minor Character Death, Near Death Experiences, Older Man/Younger Man, Sick Character, Violence, Whamilton - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 07:57:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10532202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanderson/pseuds/chanderson
Summary: George has a migraine, and it leads to Alex learning a little more about George's somewhat ambiguous past.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about law/law school, and I know nothing about treating military medical traumas. That being said, I did some research and tried my best to make it all realistic. Hope you enjoy!

“Okay types of intentional torts. This one’s easy,” Alex says as he tosses a piece of popcorn into the air and catches it in his mouth. 

Alex is currently sprawled out on George’s couch with his massive torts textbook resting on his chest and an even bigger bowl of popcorn nestled in the crook of his arm. The coffee table is covered in binders, loose papers, and notecards. “Lets see assault, trespass, larceny, false imprisonment…” Alex rubs his head and closes his eyes in concentration. “Invasion of privacy, appropriation of name or likeness,” Alex says, counting on his fingers. “Shit. I’m missing two. Dammit, I should know this by now.”

Alex growls in frustration and tosses a piece of popcorn at George where he’s sitting at the other end of the couch. He’s supposed to be helping Alex study, but he’s been annoyingly quiet for the past half hour or so. When the piece of popcorn bounces off of his cheek, he jerks his head up and looks over at Alex in confusion.

“George you’re supposed to be helping me,” he whines. “I’m missing two of the intentional torts.”

“Sorry,” George says. He absently rubs his forehead and pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. George barely ever wears his glasses, but boy does Alex love when he does. It makes quite a sight. 

“It’s okay,” Alex says with a smile. “I’m _mostly_ messing with you. Your glasses are really cute by the way.” 

“Thanks.” George smiles weakly and shifts his weight, recrossing his legs. “Okay, which ones have you already named. I’ll see if I can help you get the other two.” George rubs his forehead again, and Alex frowns. 

“You got a headache, Wash?” 

“Kind of. It’s not too bad.” George pushes his glasses up again. He motions for Alex to go.

“Okay,” Alex says a little skeptically. “Well, I’ve got assault, trespass, larceny, false imprisonment, invasion of privacy, and appropriation of name or likeness. I know I’m missing two.”

“Alright, think about newspapers and damaging stories,” George says slowly, prompting him. “If I went out and spread a really awful rumor about you, you could—”

“Defamation!” Alex shoves a fist of popcorn into his mouth to celebrate. George winces when Alex shouts but nods in confirmation. 

“Good. Now, the last one can happen in lots of different situations. Insurance, credit card—”

“Fraud!” Another fist full of popcorn and a dramatic flip of the page. “Perfect. Moving onto business torts. Isn’t this fun, Wash?” Alex pops a piece of popcorn into his mouth and rubs his chin in concentration. “Okay bribery, consumer fraud, embezzlement, extortion,” Alex says carefully, counting on his fingers again. “Interference with contract, infringement with IPR, misappropriation of trade secrets, price fixing, product liability, and unfair competition. Fuck yeah; I got ‘em all.”

As per his routine, Alex eats another mouthful of popcorn. 

“Okie-dokie, time to go over them individually.” Alex groans. “This is so fucking boring.” He heaves a sigh and finishes off his popcorn. “And now I’m out of snacks.” Alex glances over at George and moves his foot to poke George’s thigh. “Yo, earth to George. You with me?”

George looks over at Alex and nods. He has a weird, almost dazed look in his eyes, but Alex chalks it up to him being tired. 

“Yeah. Sorry,” he says softly. 

“You can’t fall asleep and leave me to suffer through this alone. We made a deal and you promised to help me study.” Alex bats his eyes and does his best pout. 

“I know; sorry.” George rubs his forehead and squeezes his eyes shut. “What’s next?” He opens his eyes again and blinks a few times. Alex frowns. 

“Hey, you sure you’re okay? Because I really am just messing with you. You don’t have to study with me if you don’t want to.”

“No it’s fine. I’m just kind of tired.” 

“Alright. I’ll take a break eventually and we can nap. That’ll be my reward.” Alex picks up his study guide and finds where he left off. “Okay, I’ve gotta define them all now. Assault, right. Assault is a direct threat by the defendant that places the plaintiff in reasonable apprehension on an imminent harmful or offensive direct contact with the plaintiff’s person.” Alex checks the definition in his textbook and whoops. “Fucking got it.” 

George winces and gives Alex a thumbs up. 

“And, okay, positive act and direct physical threat requires the threat made by the defendant to be positive and direct. This also means that the defendant must have the means to carry out the threat… and this is illustrated in Stephens v. Myers.”

“Hey Alex?” George says, cutting him off. Alex holds up his hand. 

“Hold on a sec, Wash. I need to go over this. In Stephens v. Myers, this dude got super pissed during a council meeting. They voted to eject him, but he refused and advanced toward the chairman waving his fist and saying he would rather throw him from the chair, which is fucked up, by the way. But he was stopped before getting within striking distance, but the chairman sued for assault—”

“ _Alex._ ”

Alex clenches his fists. What George?” he asks, a little frustrated with the interruption. “I need to learn this.” Alex finally looks over at George and he immediately sits up, setting his textbook on the coffee table. 

George has his elbows propped up on his thighs and he’s holding his head in his hands. He’s taking slow, measured breaths. 

Alex quickly scoots over to George and touches his shoulder gently. “Hey George what’s wrong?” George whimpers. He actually _whimpers_ in pain, and it makes Alex feel sick. He starts to rub George’s back. “Baby you gotta talk to me. What’s wrong? You’re scaring me, Wash.”

“Head,” George pants. 

“Your head hurts?” Alex lowers his voice to just barely above a whisper. “I knew you had a fucking headache,” he mutters under his breath.

“Yes. Can you turn off the light?” Every word seems to take an intense amount of effort, and George spits them out through gritted teeth. Alex quickly gets up and turns off all of the lights. 

“Is that better?” he asks softly. George makes a small moaning noise, which Alex takes as a yes. Alex sits back down next to George and squeezes his shoulder gently. “Are you having a migraine?” 

George nods and takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I need to go to my bed.” 

“Alright. Do you want me to help you?” Alex steels himself for a fight, can already hear George tell him ‘No I’m okay ’ in his head.

“Yes,” George says softly. It takes a second for Alex to realize that George actually said yes. 

“Oh. Right. Okay.” Alex blinks and stands up. “Here take my hand.” Alex holds his hand out and George grasps it weakly. Alex gently starts pulling him to his feet. 

Once George is standing, Alex wraps an arm around his waist. “You good?” 

“Dizzy. Nauseous.” 

“Can you walk? It’s not far. We just have to go down the hall. Then you can lay down.” 

“Can’t see very well.” 

“Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.” 

They move impossibly slowly, and George has to lean most of his weight on Alex. He’s basically dead weight, and Alex has to keep gently asking him to walk. “Give me a little bit more, baby. We’re almost there. I just need you to walk okay? You can do it.” 

They eventually make it to George’s room, and Alex pushes the door open. The light is still on and it floods the hallway with light. George makes an anguished, pained sound that causes Alex to tear up a little. He quickly reaches and flips the light off. George is still whimpering. “I’m so sorry, George,” Alex whispers. “I’m so sorry. We’re almost there.” Alex practically drags George over to the bed. 

Alex helps George get comfortable, and he squats down so he’s eye level with him. “Listen, George, I need you to tell me if you’ve had migraines before. If you haven’t, then we may need to go to the hospital. Something could be wrong.”

“Have them a lot. Got injured in Iraq,” George slurs. “Need my medicine. Starts with an I,” he whispers. “Hurts so bad, Alex.” 

“Okay honey. I’ll be right back.”

Alex practically runs to the kitchen. He digs through the various medicine bottles until he finds an orange prescription bottle half full of small pills. The label has some medicine starting with an I, so Alex shakes one out and fills up a glass of water. He hurries back to George’s bedroom. “Alright I got it. You’re gonna need to sit up so I can give it to you.”

George sits up and takes the pill with a small, cautious sip of water. Alex helps him lay back down, and he hovers uncertainly, unsure if George wants him to stay or leave him alone. 

“Hold me please.”

Alex sighs in relief and climbs into the bed; he cautiously wraps his arms around George’s waist. Alex can’t even imagine how bad George must feel; he’s not even pretending to be okay. George _always_ pretends to be okay. 

“I’m here baby. I’ve got you.”

“I feel sick. It _hurts_ ,” George says, his voice low and ragged. Alex swallows past the lump in his throat and squeezes George gently. 

“I know. I’m so sorry, George.” Alex nuzzles the back of his neck and kisses it softly. “Do you feel sick enough to need to throw up?” 

“No. Just nauseous.” 

“Okay. You should try to sleep. Hopefully your medicine should help.” Alex sighs and kisses George’s neck again. “I didn’t know you got migraines, Wash.”

“Doesn’t happen that often anymore.” 

“I also didn’t know you were injured in Iraq,” Alex says very softly. “You’ve never talked about the war.”

“There was a bomb. Martha saved me. I almost died.” George shudders. “Still have nightmares about it.” Alex is hit with a pang of guilt. 

“I’m sorry,” he says lamely. “Lets go to sleep okay? You should try to sleep honey.” 

“Okay,” George breathes. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, George. You know I’m always here for you.” 

Alex closes his eyes and tries not to think about how much pain George must be in. 

*******

**2005**

George dodges Nathanael Greene and easily kicks the muddy, tattered soccer ball to Martha, sending up a cloud of light brown dust that gets picked up by the wind. George and Nate both wave the cloud away in annoyance. 

“George I could use some help down here,” Martha shouts. She’s near the spot they’ve designated as a goal, but James Monroe is right in step with her, trying to kick the ball from between her feet. George immediately takes off running toward her.

“Right here,” he shouts once he gets in good range. Martha deftly moves around James and kicks it to George. He shoots it, and it easily rolls past the stick marking the goal.

“Hell yes!” Martha shouts. She runs toward George and he picks her up around the waist, spinning her in a circle. 

“Looks like we win again,” George says smugly. Nate and James both roll their eyes but smile good-naturedly. 

“Guys we gotta go!” Henry Knox, their lieutenant, jogs over to them. “Come on; lets go.” 

They immediately shrug back into their heavy jackets and jog after him. Knox is quickly ushering people into Strykers. “Custis, Washington,” he barks, gesturing at the vehicle. “Lets move it please."

They both book it and climb in. The heavy hatch is closed behind them. There are two seats left, and they quickly sit down and buckle in. 

“What the fuck is going on?” George asks breathlessly, wiping the sweat off of his face. 

“They’re sending in backup. An infantry unit was ambushed,” Nate says grimly.

“Fuck,” George swears softly. He looks over at Martha, and her eyes are wide. Because there are no windows, there’s no natural light inside the Stryker, and the tiny lights on the ceiling are barely enough to illuminate the small, cramped space, but Martha’s eyes shine bright in the darkness. 

George hates riding in the Stryker. There’s no way to see outside, so the bumpy, rough ridesmake him feel nauseous. He takes deep breaths and counts in his head, chanting the numbers forward and backward. 

_One, two, three, four, five_. _Five, four, three, two, one_. 

He does it over and over again.

At some point—he has no idea how much time has passed—Martha reaches over and grasps his hand. It grounds him. 

George doesn’t like killing people. But at this point he’s done it too many times to count. At first he kept a running tally—two on Monday, four on Thursday, one on Saturday—but soon it was too much to keep up with. 

He dreams of their faces at night. He’s reflected in their features, young, fresh-faced, full of potential. He becomes the nameless soldier lying in a muddy mixture of dirt, sand, and thick, coagulating blood. 

It made him sick at first. He would spend his nights hunched over heaving and vomiting whatever meager amount of food he was able to choke down during the day. Martha held him through it, whispering gentle words of encouragement.

Now George kills people and it’s not so bad, which is alarming, but it was bound to happen eventually. He’s seen as a good soldier now: Strong, obedient, a natural leader, a killing machine. It’s scary. 

Martha doesn’t specialize in killing people. She’s the medic, the one there to stitch everyone up. She comes away with blood on her hands, but it’s the blood of men and women who will ultimately live another day. Martha doesn’t have nightmares. 

George is in the middle of counting— _three, four, five. Five, four_ —and swallowing back a particularly intense surge of nausea, when the world around him explodes. 

There is a brilliant flash of light, and George is moving through the air. It feels like he is making a slow, graceful arc. He is surrounded by the light, and he briefly thinks that this is what it must look like when a star explodes. 

When he hits the ground there is a sick cracking sound and he hears a scream. It’s anguished and guttural, one of the worst noises George has ever heard. As the world begins to recede into black, George realizes that he is the one screaming. 

*******

Martha Custis is a good medic. 

She graduated high school early and went to college young; she did her undergrad in two and a half years; and she went to Johns Hopkins to earn a medical degree.

Martha always knew she wanted to be a field doctor. Her father was in the military before she was born, and she was always enchanted by her father’s military stories—the good and the bad. Martha knew she wanted to serve her country. 

So here she is serving her country, covered in her best friend’s blood. 

She remembers feeling surprised by how loud the explosion was; her ears are still ringing. However, she is miraculously okay. She knows that her ribs are bruised—one may be broken—but it’s not close to piercing her lung. Her arm is broken, but Nate was able to help her set it and get it into a make-shift sling. His leg is broken and he is sitting handing her supplies out of her medical pack. She had it in her backpack, and it survived the explosion from it’s place strapped onto her back. 

“Nate, keep radioing in. Tell them this is an emergency okay?” Martha shouts. Nate nods his head. 

“Don’t worry. I’m on it.” He is staring at George’s motionless body, unable to tear his eyes away. 

“Nate,” Martha snaps. “Radio in.” 

She has intubated George and immobilized his spine the best she could. She had to use a large scrap of metal, the same thing she used for Nate’s leg. She has suction standing by in case George starts to vomit. Her hands shake as she tries to stem the bleeding. There’s so much blood. It’s a shiny, bright red—the same color of the dress she wore to George’s college graduation. 

George is completely unresponsive, and his face is so bruised that she barely recognizes him. He’s normally so handsome. His smile is easy, almost boyish. Of course, George rarely smiles anymore. She remembers watching the sparkle leave his eyes when his brother Lawrence died. She was with him at the hospital; he said he couldn’t watch his brother die alone. His mother was there too, but Martha knew that she offered George no comfort. 

He wasn’t supposed to join the army. George should be in law school right now, meeting boys and debating the merits of different political philosophies. He should be at Harvard living out the life he was meant to live. 

The day after Lawrence died George enlisted. Martha still hates him for it. She didn’t want him to come to war with her. George wasn’t made to be in the military. George is soft and sensitive; he cares almost too much, but his heart is so big and full of love to give that Martha realized long ago that he can’t help it. He also has a horrible temper and a sharp tongue, though he tries not to use it.

Martha absolutely hates George right now for making her do this, for making her sit here on her knees holding a rag to his bleeding head, praying to a god neither of them believe in that he won’t die out here in the middle of an Iraqi desert a million miles from home. 

A few of her tears drip onto George’s t-shirt, forming small, dark green dots on his lean, lightly muscled stomach. 

“You cannot die, George,” she whispers angrily. “Do you understand me? You cannot die. Lawrence wouldn’t want you to die. I know you joined the army because you wanted to die, because you felt like there was nothing left worth living for, but you’re wrong. You’ve got a whole life to live George.” Martha sniffs as more tears blot on George’s t-shirt. “You can’t fucking die and leave me. You’re like my brother George. I can’t lose you. I know you’re in pain; I know you’re hurting. I wish you would just let me help you instead of running around doing stupid shit all the time.” 

“Martha,” Nate says timidly. 

“Yes?” She looks up from George's mangled face. 

He points at a helicopter rapidly approaching from the distance. Soon the loud chopping of its wings fills the eerily quiet desert. Martha hunches over George to shield him from the giant cloud of dust. 

Later, after George is taken into surgery, everyone praises her for being so brave and saving George’s life. Her, George, and Nate are the only survivors of the blast. It was a landmine. She doesn’t know how they didn’t detect it.

George wakes up two days later and Martha can’t stop the rush of emotions that hit her. She grips his hand tight enough to hurt him and sobs. He pets her hair and tells her that he loves her. 

Martha doesn’t leave his side after that. She sits with him every day, wordlessly passes him a small bowl when the medicine they give him makes him sick, sponges the sweat off of his face, walks with him once he’s strong enough to get out of bed.

George is honorably discharged 3 months later. Martha stays for another year before she gets to go home. George is at Harvard by then. He is quiet and serious, and he spends most of his time alone. She finally convinces him to go see a psychiatrist, which seems to help, but there is still something different about him, something dark buried deep inside him. 

She stays with him in Boston while she looks for a job. He wakes her up screaming most nights. It’s the same routine every time: He wakes up screaming at the top of his lungs and slinks down the hall to the small, second bedroom Martha is staying in. He climbs in bed with her, and she holds him while he cries. 

When Martha is offered a job at NYU Langone, he pretends to be happy for her, but the fear in his eyes breaks her heart. He drives her and her trailer full of stuff to New York and helps her settle in. They talk on the phone every day; they visit each other on the weekends when they can afford to get away.

She goes back to Massachusetts to watch George graduate from Harvard. Martha is the only one there; George’s mother doesn’t come. 

He gets a job in New York and moves there shortly after. Martha knows deep down that George moved to New York to be close to her, but she doesn’t really mind. She needs him as much as he needs her.

*******

**Present day**

Alex isn’t really tired so he can’t sleep. After about an hour, he gingerly slips out of the bed and goes to get his flashcards. He sits next to George and studies, straining his eyes in the darkness. 

He’s on his second time going through the massive stack of notecards when George stirs and makes a soft noise. Alex holds his breath, waiting for George to start moaning in pain again. 

“George?” he asks softly. “You awake?” George grunts in response and slowly sits up. His face is still creased in pain but at least he’s not moaning. “Hey.” Alex smiles. 

“Hey,” George whispers. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Does it still hurt?” Alex sets his notecards on the bedside table. 

“Yeah. Not as bad now.”

“Do you still feel sick?” Instead of replying George just nods. Alex frowns and rubs his back gently. Alex googled migraine symptoms while George was asleep, and he’s glad George doesn’t seem to be sensitive to touch. “I’m really sorry baby.” 

“S’okay.” George hunches over and holds his head in his hands. “Not the worst I’ve had.” 

Alex cringes; it’s almost unfathomable to think that George has been in worse pain than this. 

“What happened in Iraq?” Alex asks softly. “Unless you don’t want to talk about,” he tacks on quickly. “Or if talking hurts too much.” 

“Our vehicle got blown up by a landmine. I smashed my head open.” George doesn’t offer any more information. 

“I’m sorry,” Alex says for lack of anything better to say. “I had no idea.” 

“I don’t like to talk about it. That was a very dark time in my life.” 

“Right. Of course. Sorry for bringing it up.” Alex kisses George’s shoulder. “Do you want some water or something?” 

“No.” George lays back down and curls up on his side. Alex lays down too. Their faces are close, noses almost touching. 

“Alright, uh, do you want me to leave you alone for a little bit?” 

“You can stay. Unless you need to get some work done.” George’s eyes drift closed and he takes a deep breath. 

“Nah I’ve been studying. I’ll take a break and lay with you.” 

“I haven’t had a migraine in a while. Sorry you had to see that.” 

“I’m not. I can’t imagine you trying to deal with that alone. You could barely walk. That was really scary.”

“Honestly hurts more than when I got injured. I passed out and didn’t have to feel it.”

“Shh,” Alex shushes him gently. “You don’t have to talk about it. Try to sleep some more honey.”

“You don’t normally call me that. I like it,” George slurs tiredly.

“What? Honey?” Alex tugs the blanket up over their shoulders. George nods. Alex smiles and chuckles softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

George’s hand finds Alex’s under the covers and he laces their fingers. Alex squeezes gently. He watches a small smile flicker on George’s face. 

\---

Alex doesn’t get home until almost 2 in the morning. George insisted that Alex use his account to call an Uber, so he did. He tries to ignore the driver’s wary glance when he stops in front of Alex’s shit hole walk-up. 

When he gets the door open he’s surprised to find Hercules and John playing Xbox on the couch. 

“Dude, Alex!” Herc says enthusiastically. “What’s up man? We didn’t think you were coming back.” Herc smirks at him, but John gives him a terse, disapproving look. Alex sighs and drops his heavy backpack down. 

“There was a… thing I had to help George with. Sorry. I didn’t think anyone would be awake.” Alex sits on the beanbag next to the couch and yawns. 

“A thing? Is that some weird euphemism you and George use, because you should just say sex, dude,” Herc says, his eyes trained on the TV. 

“No it wasn’t sex,” Alex says. It comes out sounding harsher than he intended, and John and Herc both look over at him in confusion. 

“Everything okay, Ham?” John pauses the game and sets his controller down. “Because look, if you’re having second thoughts about getting serious with George then you should tell him.” Alex rolls his eyes so hard he’s amazed that they don’t get stuck in his skull. 

“I bet you would love it if that happened, John,” Alex mutters. “Why aren’t you home at your own fucking apartment?” Alex ask as he gets up and goes into the kitchen. He busies himself with getting a glass of water so he doesn’t have to look at John’s patronizing face. 

“Herc invited me over.” John sounds insulted, which pisses Alex off more than it should. 

“I wish you would’ve mentioned John would be over, Herc,” Alex says, fighting to keep his voice level.

“Hey, I didn’t think you were coming home and I was bored. Don’t put this on me, Alex.” Alex sets his water down and rubs his eyes. 

“Sorry. I’ve just had a really stressful day.” 

“Seriously Alex, what happened? Is everything okay?” Herc asks gently. 

“George just…” Alex sighs in frustration. “He got this really bad migraine and it was just scary. It sounds stupid, but he was in a lot of pain and it was hard. Apparently he got injured in Iraq and almost died, but he still gets migraines from the head trauma. I don’t know.” Alex sits up on the counter and leans his head back against the cabinets.

“Damn that’s intense.” 

“Do you even know anything about him, Alex?” John snaps. “It seems like he’s got all these secrets. Doesn’t that ever concern you at all?”

“Jesus John can’t you stop for five seconds? I know you hate George and think he’s some weird, depressed pervert, but I would appreciate it if you could keep your opinion to yourself for once in your god damn life.” 

“Don’t go acting all insulted, Alex. You’ve been dating George for like 4 months now and you know absolutely nothing about him. Doesn’t that seem weird to you?”

“He doesn’t really like to talk about stuff. It upsets him, John,” Alex snaps. “Not everyone can just talk about their shit all the time. Not everyone is all happy and mentally stable like you.” 

“John’s just worried about you, Ham,” Herc says softly, trying to diffuse the situation. 

“Well he’s doing a shit job at showing it. Every time I see you, John, you insult George. I _like_ him. He makes me _happy_. I mean god forbid I find happiness with someone who isn’t just like you.” Alex slides off of the counter and grabs his backpack. “I’ve got a huge torts test tomorrow so I’m going to sleep.”

Alex storms into his room and slams the door shut. He hears John leaving and Herc’s quiet footsteps as he goes to his room. He tries to sleep, but he’s still angry. He’s angry at John for being so closed-minded, and he’s angry at George for reasons Alex doesn’t completely understand. It _is_ frustrating that George never tells him anything. George knows almost everything about Alex’s past, but George’s past is a bunch of disjointed information that he picks up here and there. He wants to know George, but he’s also afraid of upsetting him. Alex doesn’t want to pry. 

He grabs his phone and checks the time, groaning in frustration. It’s almost 4 in the morning. He decides to send George a quick text that he can wake up to.

 

[Alex] Hey Wash :-) I hope you have a good day today <3 Call me if you need anything.

 

Alex sets his phone down and rolls over, trying to get comfortable. He’s jumps in surprise when his phone buzzes a few minutes later. 

 

[George] I’m assuming this was for the morning. Sorry to ruin your good morning text

 

[Alex] Can’t sleep? 

  

[George] Nope. I’m guessing you can’t either?

 

[Alex] Not at all. 

[Alex] You doing ok?

 

Alex rubs his burning eyes and yawns. 

 

[George] I guess. My head doesn’t hurt too badly anymore. 

[George] Sorry again about earlier. I hope you do well on your test… I didn’t mean to keep you from studying

 

[Alex] You were sick it’s not your fault bby 

[Alex] I should try to sleep though

[Alex] And you need to get off your phone. That won’t help your head

 

[George] Thanks doctor :p 

[George] Good luck on your test!

 

[Alex] Thanks Wash <3

 

Alex clicks his phone closed and burrows under his blankets. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but he eventually falls asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter has more graphic depictions of a medical trauma, so there's more specific descriptions of blood/gore. This chapter also has some pretty explicit references to suicide. Just to warn you. Thanks!

Alex finishes his test and turns it in, stomach coiling with anxiety. It didn’t go horribly, but it wasn’t great. Alex shakes his head and hurries out of the building, grateful for the gust of crisp, winter wind that clears his head a little. 

He doesn’t have another class until later in the day, so he calls George to see if he wants Alex to bring lunch to his office. Alex loves going to George’s office. He’s only been a couple of times, but he likes talking to Lafayette. Ben is boring and insists that Alex calls him Mr. Franklin, which is painfully patronizing, but Alex keeps his annoyance to himself. 

George picks up on the third ring. 

“Hey,” he says. He sounds tired. 

“Hey Wash. I just finished up my test. Want me to bring some lunch by the office? I can pick up some salads from that weird healthy salad place you always eat at.”

“That sounds nice, yeah. Lafayette has been asking about you anyway. He has some research papers he wants to show you about the rise of nationalism in France.”

“Awesome.” Alex grins and starts walking to the Metro. “You want your usual?”

“Yes please.” George yawns and Alex hears him typing. He must be on speaker. 

“You feeling better today?” Alex tries to keep his voice light, but the implication behind his question is serious. 

“Um, yeah. Still a little bit of pain, but I took medicine and it’s helping.”

“Okay good.”

“How’d your test go?”

Alex chuckles nervously. “Not great but not awful. I don’t know; I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

“I’m really sorry for interrupting your studying,” George says guiltily. 

“George, honey, you don’t need to apologize. If you say sorry one more time I’m gonna go into your apartment and flip all of your furniture upside down.”

George laughs and it makes a big, goofy smile break out on Alex’s face. “Yikes. You know how to hit me right where it hurts,” George says, still chuckling. 

“I know. I should honestly start calling you Mr. Clean.”

“Isn’t Mr. Clean that super weird brand with the uncomfortable commercials?” 

“Oh fuck you’re right. It totally is.” Alex laughs. “Oh well. You’re still a neat freak.” Alex gets to the entrance down to the station and starts down the stairs. “But hey, I’m going down to the subway. I’ll see you soon.” 

“Don’t forget to tell them to put the dressing on the side.” Alex rolls his eyes. 

“I won’t. Bye Wash.” 

Alex hangs up and pockets his phone, relieved that George seems to be back to normal. John’s accusations are lurking in the back of Alex’s mind, but he pushes them away. He doesn’t need to know all of the details of George’s life to date him. Alex doesn’t think it should make a difference. 

The line at the salad place is stupidly long, and Alex fucking hates waiting in lines. It makes him anxious and irritable. He’s tempted to just leave and go pick up some McDonalds, but George doesn’t like fast food, and after the day George had yesterday, Alex doesn’t want to do something shitty and purposefully insensitive. He reminds the person behind the corner at least three times to put the dressing on the side. 

He’s still feeling the remnants of anxiety and irritation from standing in line so long, but he tries to shake the slump as he takes the long elevator ride up to George’s office. 

Alex walks in and the receptionist—Abigail?—smiles. 

“Hey, Alex.” 

“Hey. Nice to see you again.” He nods at her as he walks to George’s office. The door is cracked, and Alex can hear Lafayette talking. 

“George, we can’t keep putting this decision off. Jefferson and Madison would bring in a lot of money that we kind of desperately need.” 

“Gilbert, I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”

“You _never_ want to talk about it. We can’t keep putting this off, George. Jefferson and Madison are ready to walk if we don’t give them some sort of offer soon.”

“You know where I stand on the issue. I don’t trust them.”

“Oh my God, you’re so paranoid, George,” Lafayette says exasperatedly. 

“Sorry that I want to protect the law firm that we built from the ground up together,” George says calmly. 

Alex has been hovering outside for almost too long at this point, so he quickly knocks. Both George and Lafayette go quiet. “Alex?” George asks. 

“Yeah. I’ve got lunch.” 

“Okay, come on in.” 

Alex pushes the door open with his hip and sets the food on the corner of George’s desk. Lafayette is currently leaning against the other end of the desk, and George is stretched out on his couch. His suit jacket is hanging off of the back of his chair, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. Alex takes a second to admire how good George looks, but he must stare too long, because Lafayette clears his throat and smirks at Alex. 

“Nice to see you again, Alex.” Alex smiles sheepishly and nods at Lafayette.

“You too.”

“I’ll leave you two to your lunch. Don’t let me forget to give you these papers before you leave Alex,” Lafayette says as he shuts the door behind him with a quiet click. 

Alex carries the food over to the couch and George sits up so he can eat. Alex hands George the plastic container with his gross, overly healthy salad.

“Here’s your California Salad without cherry tomatoes and balsamic vinaigrette on the side.” George smiles gratefully and opens it up, carefully drizzling a little bit of the dressing on. 

Alex gets his chicken wrap out and digs in, taking a big bite. “You know avocados are fucking up California, right? That salad probably killed a Californian,” Alex says with his mouth full. George gives Alex an exaggerated look of annoyance. 

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Facts don’t lie, Wash. Google it.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” 

They lapse into a comfortable silence. George doesn’t seem to be in the mood to talk, and Alex doesn’t really mind. 

When they’re both finished, George stretches back out with his head in Alex’s lap. He closes his eyes and yawns. 

“Sleepy?” Alex asks softly. He runs his thumb over the smooth skin of George’s cheek. George smiles lazily and nods.

“Yeah.”

“I heard you and Lafayette talking about the merger.” Alex starts playing with George’s hair. George takes a deep breath and buzzes his lips. 

“He still wants to go ahead with the merger. I don’t know what to do at this point.” 

“I’m sorry,” Alex says softly. 

“It is what it is.” George yawns again. 

There’s a knock on George’s door, and George sits up, scooting over. Their relationship isn’t exactly public, and even though everyone in George’s office pretty much assumes they’re together, they still try not to flaunt it. “Yes?” George calls out. 

“Hey George, can I speak to you for a second?” Ben’s nasally voice says, making Alex cringe. 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” 

Ben pushes the door open and narrows his eyes when he sees Alex. 

“Can I speak _privately_ with you for a second?” 

“And that’s my cue,” Alex says smoothly, standing up and collecting their lunch containers, noting how much salad George still has left. “You finished with this, Wash?” 

“Yeah. Thanks for lunch. I’ll see you later.” George’s eyes crinkle in a soft smile, and Alex has to resist the urge to kiss him. 

“Cool. Have a good day.” Alex turns and brushes past Ben, who gives him a distasteful look. 

Alex hears Ben patronizingly tell George, “you really shouldn’t have him over at the office, George. It’s a little inappropriate,” as the door closes behind him. 

“Don’t mind him,” Lafayette says. He’s standing outside his office, which is right across from George’s. 

“Is he _always_ like that.” 

“Sadly he is.” Lafayette sticks his finger in his mouth and pretends to gag. Alex snorts and shifts his weight, hiking his backpack higher on his back. 

“I should get going; I’ve got a class. It’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise.” Lafayette hands him a stack of papers. “I found these really interesting. I think you’ll like them.” 

“Thanks man.” Alex nods and takes the papers, sticking them under his arm. He tosses the food containers in the trash and sticks the papers in his backpack. Abigail is on the phone when he walks by, so he just waves and gives her a smile. 

\---

Alex almost falls asleep in his class, but manages to muddle through. He has a shift at the tutoring center today, so he spends the rest of his evening helping undergrads with their schoolwork, amazed at how stupid some people who get into Columbia are. _Trust fund babies with powerful connections_ , his mind helpfully supplies.

When he finally gets home, his back is aching from hunching over a desk all day, and his patience has worn thin. He’s pleasantly surprised to find the apartment empty when he gets there, so he pours himself a glass of water and sits on the couch, flipping on the news. 

His phone starts vibrating in his pocket, so he wrestles it out, and smiles when he sees George’s name. 

“Hey, Wash,” he says. 

“Hey. You wanna come over for dinner tonight? I’m gonna make some grilled cheeses and tomato soup.”

“Ooo, are you using that fancy, expensive cheese you buy?” George chuckles on the other end of the phone. 

“Yes.”

“I love dating a rich guy,” Alex says jokingly. “Yeah I’ll be there.”

“Great. Want me to come pick you up?”

“Nah. I’ll take the 6th. See you soon.”

“Alright sweetie. Be careful; it’s getting dark.” 

“I will Mom,” Alex says, dragging out the ‘o’ for maximum sarcasm. George huffs a laugh. 

“I’ll have the grilled cheeses cooking.”

“Perfect.”

Alex hangs up and quickly freshens up, spraying some more of his cologne that George likes. 

George’s apartment smells heavenly when Alex walks in, and George is the picture of domestic perfection. He’s in the kitchen with an oven mitt on one hand a glass of white wine in the other. He’s changed out of his work clothes, and is now in a pair of track pants that hug his ankles and a tight, white t-shirt. Sweatpants dick _and_ visible nipples? Alex must be in heaven. 

“You want some wine?” George asks when Alex walks into the kitchen and pulls George into a hug, pressing his body against George’s. 

“Sure.” He releases George from the hug and sits up on the island. George passes him a hearty glass of wine, the glass so full that it’s in danger of spilling. Alex raises his eyebrows. “Trying to get me drunk, Wash?”

“Maybe a little,” George says, his lips curling into an easy smile. Alex reaches over and grabs the bottle, shaking it. It’s already close to being empty. 

“I see you’ve made some good headway already.” 

“Don’t worry; I’ve got more.” The oven timer dings and George perks up. “Grilled cheeses are ready,” George says. Alex admires his ass when he bends over to pull them out of the oven. This isn’t a bad view at all. 

They eat their grilled cheese, dipping them in the soup and passing a fresh bottle of wine back and forth. Soon they’re both leaning on each other giggling and exchanging soft, sloppy kisses. 

When George gets up to take their plates into the kitchen, Alex nearly rips George’s pants off when he sees the unmistakeable outline of his cock resting on his right leg through the thin material of his sweats. 

He plops back down on the couch next to Alex, pushing a lowball glass full of a rich, honey liquor into his hand. Alex hungrily watches the way his cock moves, jostled by the movement. 

“Um, excuse me, my eyes are up here,” George says teasingly, reaching over to tip Alex’s chin up. Alex flushes and smiles sheepishly, taking a sip of his drink. It’s a smooth whiskey, obviously expensive.

“Sorry; you know what these sweatpants do to me baby.” George chuckles and takes a sip of his own drink. His lips dart out to lick the moisture off of his top lip. 

Alex tips his head back and drains the whiskey, feeling the pleasant warmth spread through his body and settle in his belly. George cocks his eyebrows and mirrors Alex, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand when he finishes. 

Alex leans in for a hungry kiss, tugging on George’s bottom lip just the way George likes it—not too hard, but enough to sting just a little. George’s tongue slides over Alex’s teeth, and he makes a soft whimpering noise when Alex drags his fingers over his clothed cock. 

“Wait, Alex,” George pants, pushing Alex’s hands away. Alex frowns in confusion, glancing down at George’s half-hard cock tenting his pants. 

“What’s wrong? You okay?” Alex cups the back of George’s neck and kneads it soothingly. 

“Yeah. I just, before we get distracted, I feel like I owe you an apology.”

“An apology? For what?” Alex asks, feeling even more confused as George’s breath hitches and he grinds his jaw nervously. “George, baby, what’s wrong?” Alex asks softly, squeezing the back of his neck again.

“For not telling you about Iraq. I feel like you deserve to know.”

“George, hey, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want,” Alex says softly.

“No, no. I want you to know. It’s not fair that you don’t know about it. I know about you.”

Alex holds his breath, not wanting to spook George and ruin his chance to learn something. John’s words are replaying in the back of his mind. Alex would love to prove him wrong.

“Okay, well. I’m all ears.”

“First I need another drink.” George gets their glasses and darts to the kitchen. He comes back with two fresh glasses of whiskey. He wordlessly passes one to Alex and tips his own glass back. 

“Take your time,” Alex says gently. 

They’re both sitting cross-legged on the couch facing each other, their knees touching. Alex rests a gentle, comforting hand on George’s thigh. George takes a deep breath, finishes off his whiskey, and quickly kisses Alex. He tastes like whiskey. 

“Okay, well, I enlisted my senior year of college,” George starts out slowly, grinding his jaw. “It was right after my brother, Lawrence died. I was scared and felt like my life didn’t have a purpose anymore. I spent most of my life taking care of my brother. I devoted myself to him, so without him there, I didn’t know who I was. Martha was already planning on going to Iraq—she knew she wanted to be a field surgeon—so I decided that I would go with her. I think I was chasing some sort of feeling, searching for meaning in a meaningless world.” George takes a deep breath, and Alex squeezes his leg comfortingly. 

“Take your time, honey, there’s no need to rush,” Alex says softly. George nods and takes another deep breath. 

“So I went to Iraq. I think I wanted to see the pain I was feeling on the inside reflected on the outside, but it was so much worse than I ever imagined. The desert is a very lonely place, Alex. I don’t know what I would’ve done without Martha. She was my rock. I didn’t… I wasn’t cut out to be in the military. It literally made me sick. I could barely eat—just the smell of food made me sick to my stomach—and I had horrible nightmares every night.”

“Did you kill people?” Alex asks softly, cutting him off. For some reason, Alex just needs to know. George glances away, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. 

“Yes. Too many to count. I got good at it, too. Tactically I was a great soldier, or that’s what they told me. They said I was quick, a natural leader. I was a fucking killing machine. That’s what they meant.” 

Alex tastes bile in the back of his throat, and he squeezes George’s leg so tightly that his fingers turn white. George doesn’t say anything about it. 

“I really don’t remember much from when I was injured. I mostly remember what happened before. We were riding in a Spyder, which is like an armored transport vehicle. They were the worst—cramped, dark, bumpy. There were no windows so you couldn’t see out. They made me carsick. Of course, that pales in comparison to what happened. Strangely enough, I remember feeling particularly bad right before we hit the bomb. I guess my body was trying to tell me something.” George’s cheeks are wet with tears, but he doesn’t seem to realize it. Alex reaches over to thumb them away. 

“You don’t, if you don’t want to keep talking you don’t have to, honey.”

“No,” George says firmly. “I want to.” 

“Okay,” Alex says softly. 

“The explosion was actually weirdly beautiful, if that makes any sense. There was a really bright light, and then I was flying. It was an odd sensation. When I hit the ground I heard my head crack open, which is pretty fucked up.” George chuckles dryly and absently reaches up to rub his eyes. Alex’s throat is tight and he struggles to swallow back another surge of bile. “I was screaming really loudly. Like _really_ loudly. Then I blacked out.” George shrugs. “I kind of floated in-and-out of consciousness while we waited for the helicopter, but it was super disorienting. I remember seeing Martha above me. Apparently she was holding my head together. My skull was cracked open and she sat there in the fucking dirt holding my head together for like almost thirty minutes. She said that she could see the top layer of my brain and there was a shit ton of blood. She said it was the most blood she’s ever seen in her entire life. Bright red and thick. My uniform was soaked in it. They showed it to me after. I wanted to know everything that happened.” 

George is rambling, almost like he’s not really aware of what he’s saying at this point. Alex feels nauseous, thinking about George laying in a puddle of his own blood. 

“I woke up in the hospital two days later. Everyone kept telling me that I was incredibly lucky to be alive and that Martha saved my life.” George heaves a big sigh. “I joined the army because I wanted to die, but obviously that plan fell through. I got discharged and went to law school instead.”

Alex laughs an almost hysterical laugh that chokes off into a sob. George finally looks at Alex and seems to snap out of it, leaving his memories and rejoining Alex in the present. “Alex,” he says helplessly. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” He looks so guilty, and it only makes Alex feel worse. 

“I’m sorry,” Alex manages to choke out. “I’ll be right back.” Alex gets up and stumbles down the narrow hallway. He shoves George’s bathroom door open and drops to his knees in front of the toilet. He throws up, coughing as his throat and nose burn and his eyes water. His stomach muscles spasm and he throws up again, moaning. He shakily stands up when he’s finished and flushes the toilet. Alex splashes some water on his face and swishes some of George’s mouthwash around a couple of times, trying to get the bitter taste out of his mouth.

George is sitting on the edge of his bed, his head hanging forlornly. When Alex closes the bathroom door, he jerks his head up and stands up, approaching Alex cautiously. 

“Are you okay? I didn’t mean to upset you; I’m so fucking sorry,” George says breathlessly. 

“No, no. It’s okay. I probably would’ve thrown up anyway. The alcohol wasn’t sitting well. Please don’t feel guilty.” Alex sits on George’s bed and pats the spot next to him. “I really appreciate the fact that you told me all of that, George. It helps me know you. I feel closer to you now. That’s all I want: To feel close to you.”

George sits down and kisses Alex’s shoulder gently. “Can I make love to you, Alex?” he asks softly. Alex’s cheeks heat up at the term. George has never called it that before; he’s never sounded so gentle when talking about sex. Usually they’re a little rough and a lot dirty. George specializes in fucking Alex into the mattress until he’s practically screaming George’s name. 

“Of course you can,” Alex whispers, sniffing. George stands up and pulls his t-shirt off, exposing his toned, muscular chest. His stomach has grown a little soft, but the muscles are still there right below the surface. He pushes his pants down slowly, and Alex can’t help the way his breath hitches when he sees George’s cock tenting his small boxer briefs. He holds his hand out to Alex, and Alex lets George pull him to his feet. He undresses Alex slowly, gently. His touches are feather-light, and he places soft butterfly kisses along Alex’s shoulder. 

“You are so beautiful, Alex,” George says as he lays Alex out on the bed. “You are my beautiful, darling boy. You know that right? I don’t know what I would do without you in my life. You make me so happy.” 

George grasps his cock and starts to jack Alex slowly, using long, languid strokes that make Alex’s toes curl. He slowly hardens in George’s hand, precum pearling at his tip. George is placing sloppy love bites on Alex’s neck, flickering his tongue over Alex’s pulse point. Alex makes a high, keening sound and pushes up into George’s hand, searching for more friction. 

“George,” he gasps. “Please. I need you. Prep me baby. _Please_.” George’s pupils are blown and he lets out a low moan. He releases Alex’s cock and leans over to get the lube out of the bedside table. He drizzles some on his fingers and slowly starts to work Alex open with his thick, hot fingers. 

George rubs his hand along Alex’s belly, soothing him. “Shh baby. Just relax sweet boy. Relax and let me get you ready for me. I can’t wait to fill you up baby boy. You feel so nice and tight around me.” George’s voice is low and ragged. Alex loves watching him unravel. 

Alex tries to rut down and fuck himself on George’s fingers, but George makes a soft tutting sound. “Not yet. You’re almost ready for me.”

“I’m ready, George,” Alex says breathlessly. “Please. I’m ready.” George leans over and kisses Alex hungrily, devouring his mouth in a way that is still impossibly gentle. No teeth, just tangling tongues. 

“Okay baby. I can’t wait for you to take me. I love being inside of you.” Alex watches George roll the condom on through hooded eyes, his mouth slack. George rubs his head along Alex’s cleft, teasing him. 

“George,” Alex whines. “Baby please.” George smiles and presses into Alex. A low moan rumbles in his throat and his mouth falls open. 

“Oh baby boy,” he pants. “You feel so good. You’re such a good boy for me.” Alex moans and digs his nails into George’s broad, muscled back. 

George moves slowly as he continues to pepper Alex with soft, gentle kisses. Even as he starts to pick up speed, he keeps it tender. He buries his face in the crook of Alex’s neck and moans, telling Alex what a beautiful boy he is.

When George takes Alex into his hand and starts to jack him in time with his thrusts, Alex feels himself grow closer. His body is tense and he can feel is balls bunching up. Warmth pools almost painfully in his stomach, and he gasps, gripping George’s shoulders tightly. 

“George, baby, you’re so good to me,” Alex pants as he meets George’s thrusts. George is panting and making these small gasping noises that lets Alex know he’s getting close. “Come inside me baby. Please. I want to watch your face when you come inside me. Lets me see it George.” Alex cups George’s face and pulls him down into a slow kiss. George’s cock twitches inside of Alex and he comes hard into the condom, whimpering against Alex’s lips. Alex quickly follows, spilling hot come over George’s hand. It drips down onto Alex’s stomach, coating him in the hot, sticky liquid. 

George pulls out and collapses down next to him. He’s drenched in sweat and his chest is rapidly rising and falling as he comes down from his orgasm. Alex kisses his shoulder before getting up and going into the bathroom to clean himself up. He brings George a warm washcloth and helps clean him up and tosses the condom in the trash. 

Alex curls up under George’s arm, resting his head in the crook of George’s neck. George rests his chin on top of Alex’s head. 

“You are so beautiful, Alex,” he sighs. “God I love you so much.” 

The breath gets caught in Alex’s throat when George says it, and George immediately tenses up. “Fuck. I didn’t, I know it’s way too soon to be saying that kinda stuff. I’m sorry Alex. I’m just drunk and we just fucked and I guess I’m still feeling vulnerable or whatever,” George rattles off, rambling nervously. 

“George,” Alex says, cutting him off. “I love you too.” 

“You do?” George asks timidly. 

“Of course you big dope. How could I not?” Alex kisses George’s neck and yawns. “But we should sleep. I’m exhausted.” Alex turns so his back is to George, inviting him to spoon him. 

George immediately snakes his arms around Alex’s waist and shifts around until he’s comfortable. Alex sets an alarm on his phone and stretches his arm out to turn off the lamp. Alex settles back down, nestling against George. 

“Who’s the old man now?” George murmurs in his ear, nipping it playfully. “Tired at 10 o’clock? I never thought I’d see the day that Alexander Hamilton goes to sleep before midnight.” 

“Oh fuck off,” Alex chuckles, elbowing George gently. “Even young whippersnappers like me have to sleep sometimes.” George laughs, his hot breath buffeting the back of Alex’s neck. 

“Go to sleep baby. I’ll see you in the morning.”Alex lets his eyes slip closed as George nuzzles the back of his neck. 

He’s safe in George’s arms, his new favorite place to be. He falls asleep with the pleasant feeling that comes from being loved and loving in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are appreciated. Sorry this got so emo and angsty. I can't help it. I tried to make up for it at the end though!

**Author's Note:**

> I just can't resist a sick/hurt/sad George. I suck. Hope you enjoyed; comments are always appreciated!


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